


A Thousand Different Versions of Yourself

by fackinglouis1 (fackinglouis)



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-07
Updated: 2013-04-07
Packaged: 2017-12-07 17:34:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/751173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fackinglouis/pseuds/fackinglouis1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one where Louis' dating Tyler (who maybe gets angry a little too easily), but spends his time staring at beautiful, lovely Harry from the bakery.<br/>Warnings for domestic abuse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Thousand Different Versions of Yourself

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from the song Sleeping Lessons- The Shins(Recommended by Hunter and something you should definitely go listen to) A million thank you's to Hunter, my beta, who went above and beyond and helped immensely - and who you can find on tumblr at jurassiclouis. And also, thank you to Allie who is the best ever and who is the reason why this fic is a thing. I love yooou! I owe you both for this one.

There are billows of steam clouding around him until the bathroom is entirely foggy and covered in a thin sheen of condensing water. Each scalding droplet beats down and stings his skin a vibrant red. Louis turns the knob even further right until the temperature can't get any hotter. By now his back is numbed from the pain and he takes a step back under the spray of water, wincing when the water rolls over the sensitive skin of his face.  
  
And he waits until that turns numb too.  
  
Louis blinks his eyes open, a rim as red as his skin outlining the glassy blue, and squints down at his body. It's like an abstract work of art with different shades of fresh purpling blues and blacks mixed with healing yellow and greens over a canvas of pink and tan skin. There's even some lines of bright red, jagged looking cuts scabbed over on his hip and one on his calf from when he genuinely fell over on the sidewalk last week- no lie this time.  
  
They paint a horrific picture of weakness. Of everything he's done wrong, of what he'll never have and what he'll never be. It's a map of all his failures and shortcomings there for a daily reminder in case he forgets how flawed he is. Louis reaches for a loofa, briefly wondering how hard he would have to scrub to wash himself clean of all of this and sniffs wetly.  
  
He pointedly ignores how his hands shake around the bottle of soap because honestly, he doesn't need any more reminders of how weak he is when he has plenty already.  
  
Louis visibly startles when a sharp knock sounds against the thin door and rattles through his slight frame. "Louis, c'mon, you've been in there forever," the deep voice intermingles with the jiggle of the door knob-Louis holds his breath when he can't remember if he locked it or not and blinks in relief when the door stays closed-and another rough knock on the door.  
  
"How many times do I have to tell you not to lock the door, jesus," Tyler huffs and even from the hallway Louis can hear the irritation. "Hurry the fuck up." There's heavy footsteps trailing away from the door and with every thump, Louis' tense muscles relax that much more.  
  
He doesn't have time to wash his hair anymore even though he really wants to, but he's already twisting the knob off, immediately shivering in the sudden loss of heat.  
  
There had been a time when the kisses Tyler had pressed into the column of his neck excited him and spurred rosy blushes over the tips of his ears. Sometimes he can't remember what it's like to be kissed and smile about it and sometimes it's all he can remember and he doesn't know which is worse. It's the whole better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all dilemma.  
  
And even if it's hard to believe, there used to be a time when Tyler came home with the unexpected rose just to surprise Louis and see his eyes light up and reflect like stars.  
  
But now, when he slips through the bathroom door, feet padding softly on the hardwood flooring and feels a looming presence behind him, all it does is raise the hairs at the nape of his neck like he's living in some horror movie with Tyler cast as the killer monster. It's really not too much of a stretch if he's being completely honest with himself.  
  
There's an angry blur of complaints and demands following his path into the bedroom, something he's learned to live with and almost block out. He's not yet mastered the technique of fully tuning out the harsh breaths, but he figures he has time to. He's not going anywhere, not got anywhere _to_ go.  
  
Louis dresses quickly, ignoring any wandering hands pinching at his hips, and throws the used towel in the laundry basket of clothes he reminds himself he needs to wash.  
  
It's a typical night for him: ears perked and tracking Tyler's movement through the house as he finishes his homework, tidies up any messes around the house, and throws something small together for dinner, all for an unspectacular ending of falling asleep to prying hands and rough kisses.  
-*-*-*-*-  
"Hello, Lou!" He's greeted with a pleasantly deep voice, all soft around the edges, when he pushes in through the door of the bakery the next morning. The bell tinkers somewhere above his head and Louis shivers from the last gust of air fitting in before the door closes again.  
  
He loves the first few weeks of winter in London while the novelty of the first few snow falls still hold that untouchable magic and all the childlike excitement he felt when he was a kid. And then the wonderful city people walk all over it and turn the white into a gray slush. That's when winter turns crisp and miserable in his book.  
  
But he's grateful that he doesn't have to offer up as many excuses for the layers like he did in the summer time for Harry and the rest of his merry band of misfits. Today he's grateful for the chunky scarf looped around his neck because it covers the dark mark where Tyler pressed his teeth in last night.  
  
Harry smiles at him from behind the counter, all teeth and bright green eyes hidden behind dark swooping curls. "How's it?"  
  
Louis smiles at the tall boy behind the counter and walks closer, glad that he's apparently come after the breakfast rush and the place is mostly empty. "I'm fine, thanks," he says softly, tracing his finger tips over the top of the counter separating the pair. "And how are you?"  
  
Harry wipes his hands off on his apron and leans forward over the counter on his elbows, suddenly very much in Louis' personal space. "Been a bit slow today, but now you're here to keep me company!" He says and nods like it's something great for Louis to be here.  
  
Harry is something weird.  
  
They've been good friends ever since Louis stumbled into the bakery late at night sometime last May. Harry had been in the process of flipping the sign in the door from open to closed so naturally he frowned at the new arrival slumping heavily in a chair. But then he had noticed that the guy was crying like he was hurt or something and Harry blanched.  
  
He had sat across from Louis, who had been hunching in on himself and making his already small figure appear even slighter somewhat in protection, and frowned again, but this time for a different reason. "Please don't cry, love," he had said, long fingers flexing in a useless attempt to grab Louis' hand.  
  
The other boy had startled as if he had just then noticed his company, blinking owlishly up at Harry and hastily wiping the tears from his eyes. "S-sorry?"  
  
"Nobody should ever be upset enough to cry," Harry had crooned, prompting a wet scoff from Louis. "Especially someone like you."  
  
Louis remembers that night with shining clarity and not just because it had been the first night Tyler smacked him. They had been friends ever since, Louis telling Tyler that his classes started earlier or later than they actually did and spending all his free time with the cheeky boy in the bakery.  
  
Harry is a well kept secret, something Louis holds dearly against his chest, his heart. Nobody knows about Harry. Mostly because he doesn't have anybody he could tell about Harry other than Harry himself, but that's besides the point.  
  
The bakery, with it's sweet aromas and tinkling bell and free tea Harry sneaks him, is his safe haven, his escape from the nightmare that's become his reality. Louis doesn't know what he'd do if he lost the opportunity to come and see Harry's dimpled cheeks and easy going laughter. Which is why he's very careful to keep the two areas of his life very,very separate.  
  
When he walks through the door, feet stepping over bright pink tiles, he's Louis Tomlinson, uni drama student who drinks too much tea and spends too much time avoiding his homework. He isn't Louis Tomlinson who's covered in bruises from the night before because he spaced on picking up the milk again and who feels lower than the dust on the street.  
  
It's just, he's _trying_. Trying so hard to stay afloat and it's so hard when he's constantly being dragged under and reminded that he's not even second best, not even third best, not even _fourth_. And he needs the few short hours a day he's afforded when he can pretend he's as normal as every other patron chewing on one of Harry's freshly baked muffins.  
  
So that's exactly why Tyler has no idea about Harry and Harry has no idea about Tyler.  
  
Louis is actually surprised he's been able to keep it a secret without screwing it up like he does with everything else in his life, but he isn't going to question it if the Gods want to show mercy suddenly. It's not like the topic hasn't come up, because Lord knows the amount of times Louis has had to laugh and wave off Harry's proposal of drinks or dinner.  
  
"There's a new italian place that's just opened up," he'll say, Louis' eyes trained on the movement of Harry's hand as he wipes down the counter. "Come with me?"  
  
Louis usually just laughs or lies his way through a ridiculous excuse even though he'd love nothing more than to say yes. (even if there's that voice in his head reminding him that it's useless to think like that because beautiful, lovely Harry doesn't like damaged Louis like that and even if he did, he likes happy Louis from the bakery and not damaged Louis from the kitchen floor and he won't like him when he sees the bruises and figures out how broken the real Louis actually is)  
  
Harry never seems to be too broken up about Louis' refusals if the easy smile or his proposition the following days are anything to go by.  
  
Louis thinks he might possibly be in love with beautiful, lovely Harry.  
  
"Ever the charmer," Louis smiles and orders a tea, absentmindedly jingling the few coins he has in his pocket. They almost end up being of no use when Harry refuses to take any money for the warm mug, but Louis empties them out into the open mason jar on the counter for tips.  
  
"You should accept tea when cute boys try to buy it for you," Harry reprimands with a mock pout over his pink lips. He thinks about what it would be like to kiss them, just fleetingly, and then thinks that wanting to kiss other boys probably makes him a bad boyfriend. At least, that's what Tyler is always saying. He reckons he's right.  
  
"Well," Louis swallows a mouthful, ignoring the burn. "If you know any cute boys, I'd gladly accept any tea they're offering." He's teasing and Harry knows that, but he clasps a hand to his heart anyway and scowls. "That one hurt, Louis."  
  
Louis laughs warily, fidgeting his thumbs together. "I'm just kidding, promise," he reassures, hoping to high heaven that Harry won't take it to heart. He's usually good that way, never snapping at the teasing remarks that slip through his filter, but Louis likes to be careful.  
  
If he lost Harry he's not quite sure what he'd do.  
  
Harry chuckles and rolls his eyes fondly, reaching over to pat Louis' thin wrist in a way of assurance. "I know, I know.. Now," he starts again, suddenly more animated, hands waving in front of him. "Tell me about this winter production again."  
  
And if Harry isn't the most perfect human being Louis has ever met. He knows full well everything there is to know about the production after countless hours of Louis gabbing on and on about every detail. But he also knows that Louis wouldn't mind explaining it again, rehashing all the parts and set designs with a wide smile on his face.  
  
So Louis launches into a magnificent retelling of the number of props they're using, waving away any inquiries about auditioning for a role himself. Because that would be silly, of course.  
-*-*-*-*-  
"This tastes like shit," Tyler speaks around his mouthful of food, a nasty twist to his features. Louis doesn't bother looking up from where he's pushing the food around on his plate. He just shrugs, knowing full well that it's going to make Tyler upset, but he distinctly remembers giving him fair warning on his cooking abilities-or lack, thereof- when they first started dating.  
  
There's a loud clank, Tyler snapping his fork down against the glass plate. "You can't cook, you can't clean, you never listen. God, Louis, what the fuck are you good for anyway?"  
  
 _In, out,_ Louis breathes, _In, out._  
  
No matter how many times he hears it, the words still sting. Again he shrugs, the back of his eyes stinging with the telltale build up of salty tears and that's weird. Louis' grown pretty good at holding the tears at bay after they stopped having any effect on Tyler. They became useless, only little droplets to remind him that he was weak and pathetic.  
  
When Tyler stalks out of the room and then out of the front door, no doubt to go and drink with one of his work buddies down at the pub, Louis feels something in him cracking. Like he can't hold himself up much longer, not like this.  
  
Everything in him wants to just give up. He wants to push away from the table and venture out into the night and take a walk to clear his head. And maybe never stop walking until he's so far away that nobody knows his name, not even Louis himself.  
  
But he doesn't. He allows himself approximately three minutes to pity what he's let himself become before he closes his shaking palms around his plate and brings it to the sink to clean.  
  
By the time the he collapses in bed, each dish from dinner is sparkling and stacked up in the cupboard, just like Tyler likes.  
-*-*-*-*-  
Sometimes, when Louis is in the mood to rip his insides out for a dosing of acid, he'll sit in a stool at the bakery counter and try to imagine all the other ways his life could have gone. All the other better ways his life could have gone.  
  
It starts with the day he met Tyler.  
  
 _Louis' fingers grazed the dusty spine of a long forgotten book, tucked away from sight on the top shelf. It was hidden between two massive encyclopedia looking monsters and scooted just far back enough that even the added height of his tip toes proved useless.  
  
He's met with a toothy grin and dark eyebrows when he makes his move to sneakily gauge if he can get away with jumping for the book and promptly stumbles back in shock, shelves shaking behind his back on impact. The toothy grin widened around a laugh and Louis couldn't hide the scowl he shot the other man.  
  
"Sorry, sorry," he repeated, holding two rough palms up in surrender. "M'not laughing at you. I swear."  
  
Louis hummed, the corner of his lips still tipped up in light disapproval and annoyance- a signature look he's perfected over the years. It's just the right mix of '_ leave me alone, you're dumb _' and '_ I swear the dislike is only faint' _and_ 'if you try hard enough I might like you, maybe'.  
  
 _He made to turn around and return to his book issue, but froze mid-swivel when a meaty hand gripped his bicep. "Look, I'm sorry," Meaty hands apologized, smirk still present. "Here, let me make it up to you." The last words were punctuated with Meaty Hands making a show of plucking the little book off the shelf with absolutely no effort.  
  
He handed the book off with what Louis supposed was supposed to be a charming smile and Louis just blinked dully at him. "I don't want it anymore," he sniffed, unimpressed. He'd probably have to come in afterwards to snatch the book since he needed it for class, but like hell if he was going to take it now.  
  
Meaty Hands' smile faltered and he dropped the book on another shelf carelessly. "If you say so," he shrugged. "Just trying to help a guy out, you know."  
  
Louis nodded his appreciation with a tight lipped smile and tried to slide away from the guy, getting nowhere when he followed Louis' path and ended up right back in front of him. "Hey, whoa, before you leave. I have a question."  
  
In Louis' opinion, he thought the scowling and the crossed arms and the just generally not speaking would have given the guy a hint, but apparently he was wrong. "You like drinks?"  
  
"Occasionally."  
  
"You like drinks with me?"  
  
"I actually don't think that's proper english," Louis breathed, a flicker of emotion finally reaching his face.  
  
Meaty Hands lips twitched and Louis quirked an eyebrow, waiting. "Listen, I don't like to take no for an answer and obviously it'd be in your best interest to just accept and get it over with, huh?"_  
  
Looking back, Louis can pinpoint everything he did wrong from not ripping his arm out of the first grip to eventually relenting and taking down Tyler's number in the little book shop. So many red flags that he just ignored.  
  
He imagines doing just that, ripping his arm away or something akin to escaping the incessant inquiries. And then he'd get away with that dusty little book and stop in the first little bakery he passed for a warm cup of tea and a cozy place to start reading. Louis can imagine Harry's warm smile of greeting and the way his green eyes would shine when he asks him to try a new Italian place that just opened up and he imagines saying yes.  
  
What could have been, what never was, and everything in between all out to play in his mind. All out to taunt him cruelly.  
  
He suspects this is exactly why Tyler think's he's such a terrible boyfriend because committed people don't imagine going out with other people.  
  
From there, he moves on to that first night.  
  
 _His hands shook, clenching on the bunches of paper towels messily torn from the roll._ Dab, don't rub. Soak it all up. Don't smear the ink.  
  
 _Every single piece of advice and lecture his mother's given him on washing stains or spills have rushed to the forefront of his brain, jumbling together to form one long string of '_ oh my god you fucked up _'.  
  
The mess of wet, smudged papers under his frantic fingers used to be a stack of crisp, organized information for a report Tyler had to present the next day at work and Louis was freaking out. Objectively, if he had taken a step back and thought things through, he would have realized that the solution was as easy as clicking print on the saved documents on the computer. But the only thing he could think about were the heavy footsteps traveling closer from the hallway._  
  
 _Behind him the door swung open and Louis bit his lip, turning around to face an already furious Tyler. "Ty, babe, I am so sorry. Oh my god. It was an accide-"  
  
"Are you fucking kidding me?" His jaw was set, fingers clenching and unclenching by his sides, and he took a step forward.  
  
"I'll fix it I swear. Don't even worry about it. No big deal, love."  
  
Tyler pushed Louis out of the way to shift through the sticky mess for a moment before throwing them all on the ground. "It's fucking ruined, Louis! No big deal? What the hell is wrong with you?"  
  
Louis shifted backwards, doing his best to stand his ground under the harsh yells. "Please don't be angry. I promise, I'll fix it. I-"  
  
He broke off with a yelp as Tyler gripped his wrist and yanked him forward, so close that Louis could almost see the cartoon steam rising from his scalp.  His chin snapped back with a sudden sharp tug of his hair.  
  
The meaty hands clenched again, but this time around a handful of Louis' hair, pulling a strangled whine from his lips and a cloud of confusion from his eyes. "You can't fix this, Louis. Goddamnit," he seethed, heavy breath settling over the skin in a way Louis can swear seeps into his pores.  
  
By the time the shock had worn off enough for him to push at Tyler's chest, he's jostled backwards again, skin tingling in sharp pain. It's a quick as lightning instinct, the way Louis jolted into action then and wriggled free of the hold to move as far away as he could in the room.  
  
The beat of his heart provided the dramatic drumming of background music to the way he scrambled away when Tyler took a step closer again. "Don't you dare," Louis' brain finally caught up enough to say. "Don't you dare touch me again." He shakily pointed a finger at Tyler, ignoring the way it quivers with adrenaline._  
  
Tyler took it as a challenge. His eyebrows furrowed above dark eyes gleaming with a sick amusement. "You don't fucking tell me what to do, alright?" He said clearly, slowly, making sure Louis heard and understood every single word right down to each syllable.  
  
 _There's an energy that thrummed underneath his heated skin and around him in that moment. When he advanced another step, each muscle flexed with power and possibility. All words died on Louis' lips, his brain too wound up in watching what was playing out in front of his eyes to signal a movement, muscles too stiff in fear that any movement would have probably snapped them.  
  
It happened in a flash of skin and whirling glimpses of the room around him. One second Louis' eyes were glued open, wide and wet with fear and frustration, and the next they were shut, staving off all pain and oncoming hurt, too dizzy to want any light.  
  
His cheek throbbed under his own prodding fingers trying to feel around over swelling, tender skin for bumps and cuts.  There was a dull tug of discomfort residing in the tendons of his neck, uncomfortable after the quick snap to the side. It all hurt hurt hurt too much to think properly.  
  
The wobble of his lip was met with only a burdened sigh, no apology._  
  
 _Tyler was sorry. Tyler was upset he had to resort to hitting Louis. Tyler didn't mean to hit that hard. Louis was just being a brat. Louis made a mistake. Louis needed to be taught a lesson. Tyler was sorry and Louis had to forgive him. Tyler loved Louis and of course, Louis loved Tyler._  
  
It's a memory that brings his stomach to an iron block, dropping down to his toes. He can only imagine what his face must have looked like, too young and naive to know how to swallow the pain and mask it. _Stupid, stupid, stupid_ , Louis thinks. _Still am_ , he remembers.  
  
Louis likes to entertain the idea of what would have happened if he had told Harry about the bruise on his cheekbone when he first slumped into that empty chair in an empty bakery.  
  
He imagines that Harry would pity him and his stupid mistakes, maybe even feel bad enough that he would drive him to a nearby motel. Louis imagines that the next day he'd find a job around town, hopefully in the bakery with Harry where he could form a semblance of a friendship with him. He can imagine so much from there, all scenarios infinitely better than the way he let Tyler gather him up in a hug and take him to bed.  
  
And from there, any moment is up for scrutiny.  
  
Every time he's left alone in the flat at night, waiting for Tyler to come home reeking of alcohol and smoke. Every time a nasty word is sneered in his direction or a hand is raised against him. Every time he finds himself contemplating the shambles of life, like broken sentences in an unfinished novel never to be finished, leaving so much potential behind in the dust.  
  
"Hey," he startles out of his thoughts at the soft snap echoing over the word. "You okay?"  
  
Louis squints at Harry for a second or two. "Yeah, sorry. Just get lost in my thoughts sometimes is all."  
  
Harry smiles, easy and all sunshine, never anything but open and understanding with Louis, and shrugs. "It happens to all of us, mate."  
  
Louis gives a tiny nod and grabs a straw from the cup full to give his fingers something to fiddle with. Harry's still smiling down at him, a dimple displayed proudly, one that Louis' always pictured touching and he starts up another light conversation with questions about his homework.  
  
It's later when Harry says it, right after he grabbed his tea a little too fast and some sloshed over the edge onto the sparkling counter he'd just wiped down. Louis rushed to clean it up, murmuring out apologies and explanations so hurriedly that his syllables all became intertwined and Harry just grabbed his hands, holding them lightly in his own big palms until Louis would meet his eyes.  
  
"Hey, no use crying over spilt milk, yeah?" He hedged, moving both hands to one of his so he could wipe the counter spotless again in four seconds flat. And yeah, Louis thinks, no use crying over things he can't change.  
  
Whether or not he can change his life is the question.  
  
-*-*-*-*-  
  
It's a couple weeks later when Louis is picking apart a croissant on his polka dot painted plate, sitting behind the counter (very against the rules, but no bother to Harry) that it happens.  
  
He's up on a counter against the back wall, swinging his legs so his heels knock noisily against the door underneath him, listening to Harry chatter on about something funny his mate did, not a care in the world.  
  
Harry stops his work with the rolling pin briefly to stand between Louis' legs and allow the smaller boy to bobby pin his fringe up and away from his eyes- Louis giggling when he adds a little poof to the clipped hair and Harry purses his lip in a fabulous pose for him. He's so close that Louis can count his eyelashes and he swallows noisily, tapping him on the nose and pushing him back to the dough.  
  
He hears the bell, hears the footsteps, hears the abrupt stop, hears his name, hears it all, but nothing fully registers until Harry nudges his knee with a soft question of, "Lou?"  
  
Because there's Tyler stopped in front of the counter. He looks out of place, a dark figure against the cheery backdrop of the beloved bakery. It's like watching oil and water mix and Louis doesn't remember how to breath.  
  
"What the fuck?" Tyler starts and Harry looks between them helplessly, wide eyes green and confused. Louis feels like his world is caving in and all he can hear is ' _The sky is falling! The sky is falling!_ ' on a loop in the back of his mind from that cartoon his sisters used to watch, Chicken Little.  
  
"Louis? D'you know him?" Harry asks, and oh god, Harry. Beautiful, lovely Harry that's furrowing his eyebrows at him and is about to stop looking at him so fondly when he figures it all out.  
  
"Know me?" Tyler butts in, fists clenching on the countertop. "He's my goddamn boyfriend who's supposed to be in class right now, aren't you Louis?" Harry shakes his head like he can't actually believe it. Louis can't' either.  
  
"Louis doesn't have a boyfriend," he tries, still so confused. "Yeah, well, Louis' also a fucking liar who needs to get over here. Come on, we're going home." Tyler's eyes are dark and furious. Louis' cheeks are flushed in shame and he's ducking his head away from Harry's gaze.  
  
Louis wants more than anything in the world to stay with Harry behind the counter in the happy little atmosphere he's created for himself, but what he wants more than that is for Tyler not to hurt anybody or cause a scene. Which would undoubtedly happen if he were to stay up on the counter behind where Harry's angled himself slightly in front of him in a valiant attempt to shield him from Tyler's angry glare.  
  
So he numbly plops the plate down to his left and slides forward until his white keds can touch the ground. "Uh," he chokes.  
  
Harry grabs his wrist and immediately Louis looks up to gauge Tyler's reaction, to gauge whether or not he should step in front of Harry to shield him from a blow. Sometimes he forgets that Tyler knows how to act in public because he spends so much time with him and his nasty words at home.  
  
Louis gently pulls his arm back and murmurs an apology, the word coming out breathless and choked around the jumble of emotions lumped in his throat. Tyler latches onto Louis' wrist, his thumb overlapping his other fingers over thin bones, and forcefully pulls him out from around the counter.  
  
Harry frowns at that, a million and one words living and dying on the tip of his tongue before they're vocalized.  
  
Tyler rests a meaty hand over the knob of his neck, squeezing imperceptibly and sneering at Harry. "What's the deal, man?"  
  
"Hey, I didn't know he had a boyfriend," Harry says, hands up in surrender and Louis digs his bitten nails into the skin of his palm. _Stupid, stupid, stupid_ , his mind chants, _stupid_. Once again, he's screwed everything up.  
  
Tyler's presses his finger tips tighter against Louis' skin, probably leaving behind dark bruises and he pulls Louis a step back. There's a seething mumble of the words _whore_ and _slag_ under his breath and Louis' heart breaks.  
  
Harry's jaw sets tightly and he jumps up on the counter, swinging his long legs over and onto the other side. "Alright, there's no need for that," he says sternly, eyes lingering on the slump of Louis' shoulders and the little sniffle the older boy makes.  
  
"We're leaving," Tyler bites out and pulls Louis along like a dog on a leash. Louis' helpless to stop it all and does a startling good impression of a fish at Harry who looks uncomfortably upset. "Say goodbye to your friend."  
  
"Bye," he manages before a shock of cold air from the opening door has him gasping for breath. He thinks he hears Harry calling out his name behind him, but he can't be sure. Not when Tyler is busy spilling angry words out against his ear lobe and squeezing too hard.  
  
He can't catch his breath; breathing is the last thing on his mind and the world around him sounds muffled, all the colors too bright in the afternoon sun. "Fucking breathe," he hears against the dull roar of sound, like waves crashing on a quiet beach. But he can't.  
  
 _Overdramatic,_ he hears, _Just wait until we get home._

_-*-*-*-*-_

_  
_Sometimes, when Louis is in the mood to rip his insides out for a dosing of acid, he'll sit in a stool at the bakery counter and try to imagine all the other ways his life could have gone. All the other _better_ ways his life could have gone.  
  
And he likes to think about his future. He likes to dream up floor plans to his perfect little house on the English country side, watching a little boy play outside in the yard with what he pictures to be his husband. He pictures _happiness,_ an overwhelming feeling of _warmth_ and _protection_ in a house where he knows everybody loves him even if he's the furthest thing from perfect.  
  
And when the figure that's supposed to represent the love of his life turns to wave at him, Louis pictures green eyes under thick curls, long fingers swiping through the wind back and forth.  
  
There are millions of these futures, spanning across different countries and occupations and families, but there is always a common thread, pulling them all together. The love of his life. Beautiful, lovely Harry.  
  
He might spend too much time in his daydreams, perhaps.  
  
But once in awhile, when the moment is perfect, there's a catalyst ( _wide green eyes shocked with hurt and confusion, the disappointment he'd never wanted to see_ ) that sparks just the right reaction and a little hint of bravery ( _an unfair fight, screaming, threats, and an escape_ ).  
  
There's a defining moment. Terrible and beautiful and powerful enough to tear down mountains, or change whole lives, perhaps. A moment that will stand out amongst the rest like a beacon, directing his life on a new path to something that can never be imagined better.  
  
-*-*-*-*-  
  
It's late and the stars are shining brightly against the dark evening sky, a light breeze whisking Louis' fringe this way and that way as he half-jogs half-walks down the familiar path to the bakery. He's only been out to the bakery late at night like this once before and that was the first night he ever met Harry.  
  
The sign hanging in the door is switched to closed, but Louis can still see Harry wiping down the display case inside behind the counter and pulls open the door, thanking whatever deity up there that the door isn't locked. Harry looks up with the bell rings, pausing momentarily when he observes who it is and Louis waves a knitted hand at him.  
  
"Why are you here, Louis?" Harry asks cooly, a tone that's never been directed at him before in his life from this man. Louis promptly decides he doesn't like it at all. "You've never asked that before," he says dumbly.  
  
"You have a boyfriend," Harry says flatly, his broad shoulders turned away from Louis who thinks _not anymore._ "And I'm not dumb, okay. You flirted, I _know_ you flirted. But you have a boyfriend and you've never thought to mention it?" When he turns around, his face his screwed up in an incredulous manner.  
  
"In all the nine months we've known each other, it didn't cross your mind once that it would be a good idea to bring up a boyfriend that you've had for even longer than that, jesus christ, Louis." Louis twiddles his thumbs between his mitten clad hands, head hanging because he knows he deserves this and whatever else Harry wants to shout at him. "The worst part isn't that I had this stupid, silly crush on you this whole time, no-" he cuts off to breathe heavily, curly hair wild, and well.  
  
"It's that I truly fancied you at least one of my best mates if anything. And then. _Then_ come to find out you've another bloke you go home to every day after you leave here and I hadn't the slightest clue?" Harry groans, skinny fingers raking through his thick hair. "Obviously all of this didn't mean as much to you as it did to me and I've probably made a big tit out of myself with all of this."  
  
Louis shakes his head, the frame of his glasses wiggling over the bridge of his nose. "No, Harry, no, no, no. It meant so much to me, you have to believe me. I promise, you're my closest friend," _You're my only friend, please don't leave me._ "I was a big, bleeding idiot, Harry, I was so stupid and I know I should have told you."  
  
Harry steps closer to the counter and peers down at Louis, eyes squinted at him like he's a complicated puzzle that the younger boy can't quite figure out. "So why didn't you? You had a chance every day."  
  
Louis swallows, his throat too dry, his neck too hot, his heart too loud. He's never been this vulnerable to anybody and it's scary. But he hasn't got anything to lose anymore. "I was, uh, I was embarrassed, I guess? I don't k-know."  
  
"Embarrassed of your boyfriend?"  
  
"No," Louis shakes his head, wishes that were the case. "Mostly embarrassed of myself."  
  
"Why?"  
  
Louis laughs self-deprecatingly and shrugs, too forcedly casual to be legitimate. "I'm not the best at being in a relationship and I don't know. I. I really like you?" He pauses to take a breath, filling his lungs to the bursting point and then exhaling slowly. "I think 'm in love with you- part of the reason I'm- I was such a bad boyfriend. And I just. Tyler, he's not the nicest and I didn't know what to do. I'm sort of a coward and," he wipes at the tear rolling hotly down his red cheeks. "I have no excuse. I just suck."  
  
Harry reaches out to tentatively hold one of Louis' hands across the counter top, frown chiseled over his lips. "Louis, I asked you out like at least once a day. I don't understand."  
  
Louis just shrugs, folding his arms over his chest. He doesn't really know what the proper etiquette is in this type of situation, wonders if telling Harry he's the equivalent of a battered woman would be appropriate. In the end, all the words die in his throat after the first syllables.  
  
So he steels himself, ignores the nagging voice in his head, and tugs the sleeve hanging over his wrist up, up, up until there are clear splotches visible. And the silence is deafening in a way that it's the loudest thing Louis has ever heard, only broken by the hitch of Harry's breathing and the sound of his own blood rushing in his ears.  
  
"Louis," Harry starts, voice deep and rough. "What." He stops for a moment and Louis sweeps his eyes over his face, trying to read Harry's thoughts, but all he sees is the way his teeth grind and the way his fingers clench and unclench on the surface of the counter. "What the fuck is that."  
  
Louis moves to pull the sleeve back down and cover up the ugly marring. But Harry's hand shoots out first and pushes the hem up farther, up past the crook of his elbow and makes this weird sort of pained choking sound in the back of his throat. "Tell me this isn't what it looks like."  
  
Finally, _finally_ , Harry's eyes break from their trance with the pattern of blue and tan and purple to meet Louis' eyes and the look he finds within chills him to the core. "It's no big-" Louis tries, but doesn't get to finish his sentence before he's cut off by the sound of smashing glass on the tiled floor.  
  
Harry looks like he's shaking, standing over the mess of broken pieces on the floor and shakes his head. "Don't. Do _not_ fucking tell me it's not a big deal, _fuck_." He's over the counter and pacing in front of Louis within a blink of an eye and Louis stays silent, not sure of what to say.  
  
"You don't get to show me bruises and expect me not to, to," he whirls around and faces Louis, all of a sudden right there, big palm spanning the entire length of his jaw as he cups his cheek so gently. "Why didn't you tell me, babe?" Harry asks, his voice quiet and sounding in a way that you'd think he were the one hurt and broken. "I could have done something, my god."  
  
Louis tilts his head into the warm palm, curling the claws his mittens turn his hands into by his side. He's completely drained physically, mentally, and emotionally and content to just nuzzle into the warmth and comfort Harry's hand provides until he's lulled to sleep. But Harry's having none of that.  
  
Harry slouches closer, hot breath puffing over his cheeks all lovely like and Louis almost smiles. "Tyler, he does... does _this_ to you?" He clarifies, spidery fingers curling gently over his arm, more careful than Louis ever remembers a touch can be.  
  
The tip of Louis' nose is still pink from the cold as he sniffles and scrunches it up. "Did you really mean it?" Louis asks, quiet voice carefully gaurded and contained. He's taught himself not to get too excited, not to build himself up to a place where the fall nearly kills him, and the hope Harry gives him is a new, dangerous high. "That you had a crush on me?"  
  
Harry stares intently into Louis' wet eyes, thumb swiping over his cheekbone and collecting some tears on it's way, and nods. "Of course," he murmurs. "Absolutely, but-"  
  
Louis' mind kicks into overdrive, his body already freezing up against the onslaught of imminent rejection. "I know," he cuts Harry off quickly, desperately. "I know that this is a surprise and that this." Louis waves a mitten around his body. "Is different from the me you see everyday in the bakery, but."  
  
"But I promise that it's okay. I'll be better. Exactly like the me you had a crush on, yeah?" His voice lilts faux happily, fingers twitching inside knitted mittens to scrub his flushed cheeks dry. "Don't worry about that at all. This is just kind of a weak moment. I'm being stupid."  
  
Harry's eyes are dark when he meets them again through a pasted on smile, stretching wanly across a bitten mouth. "Louis," he starts, voice tapering off to silence again. For a moment Louis thinks he's not going to speak again, but then he inches forward and presses a chaste kiss against the skin of his forehead.  
  
It's sweet. Sweeter than he'd ever expect to be graced with and a rush of air leaves his lungs, muscles deflating. There are fingers in his hair again, but not pulling. Never pulling. Just carding through like he remembers his mum doing when he was just wee little and couldn't be soothed to sleep.  
  
"Louis," Harry breaths, the name sending vibrations through his body. "I don't know what Tyler told you to make you this way, but I want you to understand that you never have to try and be _better_ for me." He spits the word out like it's venom on his tongue and Louis focuses on a steady breathing rhythm and the way Harry's voice seems to resonate in his own chest.  
  
 _In, out. In, out_. _In, out._  
  
"You just have to be yourself, okay? Because that's the Louis I'm interested in. Not this other crap that you _think_ I want or what that fucking wanker made you think people want." There's a pause of harsh breathing from both men, eyelids screwed shut all around.  
  
 _In, out. In, out. In, out._  
  
"But," Louis croaks, words misconstrued around the lump in his throat. "You've not seen what I'm like at home," he pleas, voice frantic, almost desperate for Harry to understand.  
  
Understand _what,_ he's not sure of that. Maybe of how much of a fuck up he can be. To save himself the hurt of Harry learning it himself and coming to hold the same disappointment in him that Tyler does now.  
  
"There's a reason for these."  
  
He's pulled away gently, always gently, from Harry's chest with strong hands wriggling around the tops of his arms. Holding him steady, but not quite gripping. "Listen to me," he commands, palms sliding up and down. "You did not deserve _any_ of this. What this is, is abuse, Louis. And nobody deserves it. Especially you."  
  
"Tyler is twisted and sick and worth less than the dirt on your shoe, okay? He's scum. What he did to you was cruel and I promise you that he will never lay a finger on you again. Never. You'll never hurt again, Lou, not if I have anything to do about it."  
  
Louis can feel his chin wrinkling in that unattractive way Tyler had once pointed out, but he ignores it and nods dumbly. He's not sure he believes anything that's happened so far tonight, but he's not about to disagree with Harry and he's having fun pretending.  
  
Harry's arms tighten around his small frame, craddling him into his chest and shushing his cries quietly. "It's okay, baby, sh. Nothing's gonna hurt you again. I've got you now it's okay." Once the tears start, though, there's no stopping them. It's a flood of pent up rage and frustration, of countless days full of swallowing down buckets of tears and insurmountable fears.  
  
Harry handles it all like a champ. He takes most of Louis' weight to guide them over to a chair, pulling the sobbing boy down to curl in his lap. He waits it out, never ceasing in his rocking and never tiring of his incessant stream of praise.  
  
Finally Louis quiets down, the heavy weight of his skull lulling against Harry's bony shoulder, eyes swollen and shut. He's got snot and tears everywhere, sniffling and snuffling into Harry's shirt, something he'd apologize profusely about if he were in the right state of mind.  
  
"Have you got anywhere to stay tonight?" Harry asks, tracing his fingers over the knobs of Louis' spine through the fabric of his clothes.  
  
Louis shakes his head minimally, eyebrows furrowing again and Harry is quick to soothe any and all concerns that pass through Louis' mind. "Nonsense. Of course you do. You'll stay with me and that's final."  
  
Louis' eyes crack open at that, bloodshot and vibrant, and he frowns, breath still hitching from his previous cry. "I can find a motel if you'd rather," he offers, hands grabbing a hold of Harry's sweatshirt and betraying the act he's trying so hard to pull off. _Burden_ , his mind supplies.  
  
"Don't be daft. You'll stay with me." And that's that.  
  
Louis is lifted up and placed gingerly on the tabletop by a Harry who's already retreating behind the counter, movements quicker than Louis' ever seen. "Let me just grab some things and then we'll go." Both are quiet in the time apart, only small hitches of breath and a ring of keys clattering together polluting the settled air between them.  
  
Louis' throat is too rough to even think about speaking more and Harry seems to know that if the way he brings back a glass of water for him says anything, offering it silently with nothing but an encouraging smile. He tries for a smile in return, knows it probably comes out as a tired grimace, and gulps down the water greedily.  
  
Harry gets him to drink another full cup before he's finally guiding them out to his beaten up, rusted car with a long arm wound around Louis' waist. "This is Molly," he introduces, leaning down over Louis' ear so he can hear the quiet words and smiling triumphantly when it warrants the beginnings of a smile from the beaten boy.  
  
"You named your car?" Harry just smiles and opens the passenger door for Louis.  
  
Louis is practically dead on his feet from there on out, leaning heavily on Harry during the walk up the stairs to his little flat and only speaking again when Harry asks if he'd like to take the guest bed.  
  
"Yeah, please," Louis nods and then adds hurriedly, "Just for tonight, maybe. I'm just really tired-"  
  
Harry cuts him off, gathering him into his chest again and dropping feather light kisses over his fringe. "Please, don't. You don't have to explain yourself, Louis. I'm not mad." Louis nods incredulously, but doesn't fight him on it. Too tired and too overwhelmed to do much else but follow him to the little room with an extra bed in it (apparently Harry used to have a flatmate before things got serious with his girlfriend and they moved in together).  
  
There's so much to talk about and work out, so many questions and confusions about where Louis can go from here. But as for right now he sleeps, cocooned in the blankets of a warm bed far away from all his troubles. He'll have time to sort everything out when the sun rises.  
  
-*-*-*-*-  
  
When the sun does rise, it rises to something falling into the bed side table and muttering muffled curses through clenched teeth. Louis' vision is blurry and caked with sleep, but he can still make out Harry's tall figure hunched over itself, holding onto his big toe.  
  
"Harry?"  
  
The man in question jumps, knocking the little table again and rattling the lamp that sits atop. "Sorry, sorry," he stage whispers. "Stubbed my toe is all, bloody table." Louis blinks in question, moving to sit up in bed.  
  
"You don't have to get up, it's still early. I just came in to leave you this note. I have to go open up shop and I didn't want you to wake up lost." He displays a piece of lined paper, edges jagged from where they were clumsily ripped from a notebook and hands it off to Louis who just holds it carefully.  
  
"Can I come with you?" he asks. "I can help out," he adds, the need to justify his every move present in the forefront of his mind, especially to Harry.  
  
"I'd love that," Harry smiles and finally straightens out. "D'you have class today?"  
  
"What's the day?"  
  
"Saturday."  
  
"Then, no. I'm free."  
  
"Good. You can go take a shower if you'd like and I'll go find some clothes of mine you can fit into, okay?"  
  
Louis nods and waits until Harry is almost through the doorway again to call out a simple, "Thank you."  
  
-*-*-*-*-  
  
Louis' never been up this early before what with afternoon classes and his work study on the occasional night. The streets are empty save for a few stragglers, but the few out and about are either too tired or too hungover to create enough noise to ruin the peace.  
  
He's sitting up on his usual counter, rolling up the sleeves of a chunky sweater Harry let him borrow and watching the boy pull out different types of sugars and food colorings to decorate the heart shaped sugar cookies baking in the oven with. Louis still feels a little guilty about sitting there, not providing any help to Harry, but he'd insisted that Louis should just sit there and taste test the different sweets he made.  
  
He figures he'll probably make himself useful in the later hours of the day with a broom or mop after a rush of customers come through, but as for right now the stores dead and still spotless.  
  
There's never a dull moment with Harry who is either keeping up a stream of never ending questions, always prompting Louis to talk more and more about himself, or dancing and singing along to the soft music the radio plays overhead. Louis' not complaining though, since it's doing such a swell job at taking his mind away from everything that should be consuming it like a rabid disease.  
  
Time flies between people watching, giggling at the flour Harry accidentally manages to smear across his face, and laughing at Louis' pathetic attempts at frosting the batch of sweet-smelling vanilla cupcakes Harry produces. And before either of them know it, the clock is signaling a little bit after two. Just after the lunch rush.  
  
The store is nearly empty (there's an elderly man hobbling off to the loo) which in hindsight should have been Louis' first clue.  
  
Harry's handing Louis his mason jar full of odd coins and a few paper notes to count when the little bell above the door rings, signaling a new customer. Louis doesn't bother looking up, just tips the jar over onto the empty space behind him and makes to separate the coins into piles.  
  
"Stay behind the counter, Lou, you hear me?" Harry mutters darkly, squeezing his knee once and then letting go to move away. Louis' stomach pits nervously at that and he almost ignores it all and goes back to counting his money like a good little worker, so ready to move on and be done with this part of his life. _Almost._  
  
His heart stutters, skipping a beat and then working twice as hard, pumping blood and adrenaline with a frenzy through his veins. For the second day in a row, there's Tyler, a splash of black paint spilled over a masterpiece, doing what he does best and making Louis frown.  
  
Harry's already out from behind the counter, moving with a determined set about his shoulders to Tyler and Louis slides off the top numbly, a few coins falling to the floor. He's at an absolute loss for what to do. "Tyler," he starts, but doesn't know how to finish.  
  
The look in Harry's eyes let him know that he should be quiet, which admittedly hurts. Harry doesn't think he can handle himself against Tyler, that he's weak and although Louis doesn't disagree, it still makes his heart pang hollowly.  
  
Louis wants to close his eyes and tap his heels thrice times or whatever it takes to bring him away from here, but even after a few blinks the scene in front of him is still the same.  
  
It's comical, really, in a way that it's the furthest thing from comical that Louis has ever witnessed.  
  
Compared to Louis' small frame, Harry's big. All broad shoulders, long limbs, and strong muscles. But his size is easily dwarfed by Tyler's thick arms and meaty hands which are now rolled up into fists.  
  
Beautiful, lovely Harry is standing in the middle of a pink bakery, flour sprinkled in his hair and across his nose and apron tied with the big bow Louis did when they opened up. And he's got a nasty scowl viciously curling over his sweet features, so out of place, facing up against someone who's probably drunk on both alcohol and rage. Louis feels sick to his stomach, like he could bend over and puke right there.  
  
Harry doesn't deserve this mess that Louis' dragged in and dropped off, much like the snow patrons stomp off their boots upon entering. Harry's life is this pink bakery and sugar cookies and cozy flats with friends. Yet, there he is facing up to Louis' crazy ex because Louis doesn't know how to deal with his problems himself.  
  
He's not even aware of his feet carrying him from his safe spot behind the counter until Harry snaps at him, "I told you to stay behind the counter, Louis."  
  
Tyler looks to Louis, all murderous glaring and flaring nostrils and sneers. "You're coming home with me."  
  
"No he's not." Harry says without missing a beat, stepping closer to Louis and reaching an arm out for him to get behind. Tyler's quick though and shoots a hand out to grab at Louis' wrist.  
  
He feels like the Barbie doll the twins used to fight over all the time, except he's more of a rag doll. He's got the tears stitched over and limp limbs to prove it, broken and worn from years of rough play.  
  
Harry snaps forward to push Tyler away with all of his might and Louis watches in horror as he falls backwards into a table-empty, thank god.  
  
Louis knows what's coming next, he's seen it a million and one times and he'll be damned if Harry ever has to learn too. So he's quick to jump up in front of Tyler, elluding every grab and beckon Harry makes for him and tips his chin up. "I'm not coming home with you," he musters defiantly.  
  
Tyler pushes up from the table of which the legs scrape noisily against the cheery tile and sets his jaw. He's about to say something, Louis can tell by the way his eyes swirl and his lips twitch, but Harry cuts in again. "Louis," Deadly calm. "I need you to get behind me. _Please_."  
  
Tyler's eyes jump from Louis to Harry and he jabs a thick finger in the air at the latter over Louis's shoulder. "You stay out of this. This is between me and my boyfriend."  
  
Louis doesn't know how Harry does it, but he laughs-actually _laughs_ in Tyler's face at that and rolls his eyes. "Mate, what don't you get? He's not your boyfriend and he's definitely not ever coming home with you. It's over."  
  
Louis feels more of the punch than he actually witnesses, Tyler having to slam into Louis's body to connect his fist with Harry's cheek. It's a sick sound of smacking flesh that Louis knows all too well and even if he hadn't been pushed to the ground, he'd have probably still ended up there with the way his knees feel like they give out.  
  
His elbow and hip both ache from taking the brunt of his fall, but all he can focus on is the way Harry seems to completely lose it against Tyler. He's screaming for them to stop, stop, _stop_ it all, but Harry's swinging Tyler around by his collar and shoving him down against the counter.  
  
Tyler kicks at Harry's legs in an attempt to get him to back off, but Harry already smashes a fist into his nose with an echoing crack bouncing around Louis's ears. He looks vicious, like Tyler sometimes looks. And Louis hates it.  
  
"Stop," Louis pleads, voice running ragged and cracking. " _Stop!_ " He's up off the floor again, skittering over and waving his hands uselessly over the struggling heap of men. He's useless and sick and his head is spinning under all this chaos.  
  
Time stretches thin, dragging over groans of pain, making sure that Louis can see all of what's happening in these few seconds. It's what feels like hours later that Tyler hauls Harry off of him and up against the display case- the one Harry always cleans so meticulously. All Louis can think about is the finger prints that are bound to end up covering the pristine glass and how it's _all his fault._  
  
It's his opportunity to jump in between and he takes it, never moving so quick and nimble in his life than he is now. Louis's sick with fear and anger, blue eyes dazed and permanently widened. " _Fucking stop,_ " he screams, words cracking. He points a short finger right in Tyler's face and heaves a breath into his lungs. "Get _out_ before I call the c-cops and have you locked up until you're old and gray for domestic abuse."  
  
"I don't ever, ever want to see your face again, so help me god," Louis affirms, feeling both so strong and so weak in that moment. Somewhere behind him Harry's hovering, bruise blooming across his pale skin.  
  
This could go so many different, wonderful, horrific ways and Louis waits with bated breath for time to tick on and carry them all out of this part of their collective lives.  
  
Tyler shakes his head. "You're going to fucking regret this, you little bitch," he swears vehemently and Louis can't help but cringe. _I won't,_ he promises himself, _this time it'll be better, you'll see._  
  
"You have three seconds to get out of my sight," Harry counters, warm hand serving as a comforting presence against the small of Louis' back through Harry's thick sweater. "Before we get the cops down here to haul your arse away."  
  
And somehow Tyler leaves, much to Louis' surprise. He stands there, spine rigid, and waits and waits and waits for him to come back hulking through the door. He waits to hear the little bell tinkling as Tyler bursts back in, coming back to finish it once and for all.  
  
But it never comes.  
  
Instead, Louis stays where he is, eyes glued to the door as Harry kicks back into life around him. There are hands moving over him, cupping his jaw, holding his elbow, trying to coax him back to the reality where everything is okay again. "You did so good, love," someone's repeating.  
  
"Louis? Louis, love, look at me. Are you okay? Are you hurt?" Harry's pleading voice breaks through his haze and he snaps his blue eyes up to meet worried green ones, still reluctant to give up the watch he has on the door.  
  
Louis' silent for a bit, adjusting to the new calm around them, before he whispers shakily,"I think I'd like to call my mum," nodding afterwards as if confirming the thought to himself. Once he says it out loud he realizes just how true that statement really is and he curls his toes anxiously inside of his shoes.  
  
Harry peers at him for a moment and then nods. Louis briefly wonders when he'll finally say no or get mad at him. It has to happen eventually, he knows that. "You can use my mobile," is all he says though, pulling the device from his apron pocket and curling Louis's fingers around it. "You can go sit in the back room and we'll go home when you've finished alright? I'm going to call someone in early, yeah?"  
  
Louis nods on autopilot, feet stumbling over themselves to carry him away to said back room and dials the numbers he's long since memorized and long since used. The whoosh of the door swinging shut behind him is drowned out by the ringing that he knows will end any moment now. He's nervous, beyond so. Palms clammy and heartbeat loud and stomach swirling, but that's all put aside when the ringing abruptly ends.  
  
"Hello?" His mum’s voice carries through the speaker, grainy and pitched, but still exactly as he remembers. "Hello?" She calls again.  
  
Louis clears his throat and licks his lips, nervously combing through his fringe despite the distance between the two. "Mum?"  
  
"Louis?"  
  
"Uh, yeah. Yeah, mum, it's me," he confirms, moving to sit on an upturned milk crate. The phones in a death grip, fingers bent tightly around the small rectangle as if his mum could leave if he doesn't hold tight enough.  
  
There's a lot of crying and yelling and giggling girls in the back all asking the same question of " _Who're you on the phone with, mum? Is that Lou?"_  
  
Louis covers his free ear with his free hand, blocking out the sounds of scraping metal in the front room-Harry fixing all the knocked over chairs and tables and probably wiping down his display case again. He soaks in the sound of his family and remembers what unconditional love feels like, tries to remember that there are people out there who are still on his side.  
  
By the time he hangs up the call after a long and stalled goodbye, his chest feels decidedly less tight and he has plans to visit Doncaster on an upcoming weekend. When he opens the door to the front room and finds Harry waiting with a warm cup of tea for him, he decides to maybe ask Harry to join him.  
  
-*-*-*-*-  
  
Louis tuts disapprovingly, fingers ghosting over the bloodied knuckles of Harry's hand. "At least you didn't break it," he tells him quietly, twisting to his left from his perch on the bathroom counter to wet a rag in the sink.  
  
Harry's standing between his open thighs, big hands resting over Louis' knees so he can tend to them properly. He's had a lot of practice with injury care. "I should've," insists Harry, voice soft but persistent. Louis just sighs.  
  
"I'm sorry." Louis grabs a hand and cleans away the dried blood so he can bandage everything up, doing his best to avoid causing Harry anymore pain than he already has.  
  
"Why?"  
  
Louis pulls a wrap tight around his knuckles in response, drawing a wince from Harry. He looks at him under a quirked eyebrow. "Why do you think?"  
  
Harry just crowds into Louis' space, curls falling into the top of his vision and shakes his head. "You're being silly. He deserved much worse." Louis doesn't respond to that, doesn't really know how to, so he focuses on the dark purple splotching across his right cheekbone.  
  
Louis tips Harry's chin just the right way under the light gently with two fingers under his chin and frowns at the dark mark. "I have some bruise cream that would help clear this up, but it's with all my other stuff at ho- at Tyler's."  
  
Thankfully, being that god that he is, Harry ignores the slip up and tries for lightening the mood. Anything to get Louis to smile again. "I don't know. I think it kind of makes me look tough. You think?"  
  
Louis smiles thinly and shrugs. "I don't know. I must look like the toughest guy on earth." It takes a minute before he realizes what he's said and his fingers still against Harry's cheek. "Ugh, ignore that," he groans, rolling his eyes at himself.  
  
It's embarrassing and pathetic and he can feel the blush rising over his cheeks already. Louis wants so badly to move on from all of this and yet, here he is, bringing it all back up again. He's not sure how he expects Harry to respond to that, but his question of "Can I see them?" was definitely not in the realm of possibilities.  
  
"What?" Louis asks again because he must have heard wrong. He covers himself in layers upon layers of thick fabrics to try and hide away his scars from the world. They're a picture of weakness and everything he's ever done wrong and there's no way that Harry would ever want to voluntarily see them.  
  
"You don't have to show me if you don't want to," Harry assures him and Louis blanches. "Why would you want to see them? They're ugly."  
  
Harry protests, of course he does. But he can't possibly tell Louis they aren't when he has yet to see the marring and Louis' had to live with it for the majority of the past year. "None of you is ugly," Harry promises, rubbing up and down his forearms, the baggy sleeves of his sweater bunching around his bony elbows with every up stroke. If he looked down he'd be able to see a few thumb prints around his wrist and pressed into the soft skin of his forearm, but Harry's eyes stay locked on Louis', never straying.  
  
"You're beautiful, Louis."  
  
Louis sighs and rolls his eyes. How can he say no when Harry's words are more sincere than he's ever been in his whole life? The skin over his knuckles pull taught when he grips the fabric of the hemline, taking a breath to steel himself before pulling it up to hold under his armpits.  
  
He doesn't look down, he's already seen it enough times to know exactly what Harry's being exposed to right now. Months of bruises over bruises, not having enough time to heal before more are littered over his skin, creating a disgusting patchwork of sickly hues.  
  
Louis eyes the swirling paint job of Harry's bathroom ceiling, feigning interest in the white designs. That is, until there are locks of hair ticking the base of his neck and along the bottom of his chin. Harry's hands glide over to rest on Louis' hips, holding him steady as he leans in a traces little kisses across the map of bruises, the map of everything he hates about himself.  
  
His hands come up from their resting place against the cool marble of the counter to grip at Harry's shoulders, not quite pushing him away or pulling him in. Just holding, curious to where this boy came from and how he's a real thing. And especially curious as to why it's Louis, out of everybody else on the planet, that he's chosen to spend his time with.  
  
"Still beautiful, Lou," Harry breaths across the newly exposed skin of his tummy, raising goosebumps in his wake. "Only ugly things about you are the things that have happened to you."  
  
Louis hums thoughtfully, moving his fingers to card through Harry's hair like he did to him the night before. There's still so much to do and sort through despite the sense of calm that's settled over the pair, but Louis decides they've both been through enough today.  
  
It doesn't matter where he'll end up staying ( _as Harry's new flatmate in the tiny extra room_ ) or where he'll end up working ( _in a little book store a couple streets over from the bakery_ ) or how he's going to get his stuff back ( _Harry brings him to Tyler's couple days later, a comforting arm draped over his shoulders the whole time_ ) or how he'll get over this all ( _with all the love and patience Harry affords him_ ), what matters is right now, he's safe and happy for the first time in a while.  
  
With Harry moving his kisses up to press against the corner of his mouth and then more fully over the bow of his lips, he doesn't care. He's finally in a place where he doesn't have to imagine what he could have done instead because it's fine the way it is.


End file.
